


Shelter

by Kureiji_Kurai



Series: Tomorrow Is Fading [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Emotional Roller Coaster, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Lonely Sherlock, Love Confessions, POV Molly Hooper, Poor Molly, Romance, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Sherlolly - Freeform, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-02-28 07:00:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2723087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kureiji_Kurai/pseuds/Kureiji_Kurai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Accepting that she was in love was no easy task for Molly considering she thought she moved on once but she was caught in his orbit just like the planets in space.  No one lived up to him, cursing her to always hold up any man and compare them to her detective.<br/>Sherlock was the sun and moon, the push and pull of all around him. For as cold as he could be, he was also warmth and security. He sheltered her in his own way even while he twisted the knife of death into her. Living with him was a continual paradox she could never live without. Beautiful, Sherlock bloody Holmes!</p><p>The funny thing was, they were each other's shelter without even knowing it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shelter

**Author's Note:**

> Shelter by Birdy
> 
> This is a stand alone/off to the side taken from future scenes in Tomorrow is Fading, but given more than enough alterations to be a one shot (same plot, just lots of other changes). It's just a teaser I had to mess with. I will probably post random extra scenes or that kind of thing randomly as I write the main plot just because of reasons. Most of it won't be in the main story (like deleted scenes if I can borrow the term) at least in the full way that it is here, it's just stiff I wanted to write.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shelter by Birdy

**_Shelter_ **

_Complexity_

 

Sherlock BBC

Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper

* * *

The world in large was a place full of chaos, wild and churning with unrest.  It was exciting and beautiful but also horrible.  How did one escape the horrible part?  That was easy; by smiling and letting the mind drift in the clouds, shutting it out by shutting out the world, or by keeping ones own life as chaos free as possible.  Some people could go through life and make absolutely no enemies, winning the majority of people over with a sweet nature.  Those that were reclusive and took no risks might also be without many friends, but still no enemies.  Since college, the brilliant young girl from a small sort of space in London had been a bit of a mix between the two, living a very normal life with no bad blood with anyone to speak of.  She was invisible to most, quiet and carefree, but quite nice if anyone had the foresight to speak to her longer than a few minutes.

Molly Hooper kept herself to herself most of the time, never bothered anyone.  As a rule, she went out of her way _not_ to be in the way or cause anyone trouble. She was also a creature of habit.  When walking to work she took the same exact streets, crossing the busy walkways and side streets in exactly the same places. The shops she passed were the same and each day she would consider trying a new way, but then she decided that the way she went served her well enough. Why change something that worked so well? Rocking the boat was not her style.  

Her way of dealing with life worked very, very well, even if she was not exactly one of those popular people she occasionally envied.  People liked her quite well and she was often proud of how she could open almost anyone up and get them talking when other people could not.  Things in life had a way of shifting though. Being invisible was her defense against a wild world, a world that grew progressively more so after she met a Consulting Detective and became what amounted to his personal lab assistant.  While she had the degree, he was the worlds only Sherlock Holmes and he got whatever he wanted!

The young Holmes was anything but invisible!  He craved attention for his superiority complex and actively dragged adventure to his own door.  He was chaos and order all at once, sustaining the strangest balance she had ever seen in her life. 

The friends of the Detective were a select group able somehow to still speak to him even after he verbally demolished them and spilled every secret they ever had since pre-school. Not everyone could endure having their every thought spoken to the world by the man that saw everything, but some could, and they stayed close to him, earning his slow trust.  They indulged his eccentricity because he wound himself around them and made them all love him.

Some would say she gave him more than others and they would have been correct.  Dr. Molly Hooper had been head over heels for that stunningly beautiful creature from the moment she set eyes on him.  Dark hair, overly dramatic and exaggerated features to match his personality, a long and tall physique, and eyes as sharp as any ten blades was what he was made of.  His mind though, that was a thing of even more stunning beauty in her opinion. A majority of people could not stand his blunt, rude, thoughtless, and brutally honest ways, but Molly admired him for it.  He was everything she was not!  He did not care a smidgent if he upset others or rocked a thousand boats, he was himself and that was that.  

She knew what he was thinking at all times because he said it all plainly and that was more than could be said of most men; her past boyfriends at the top of that list.  Because of the incredible mind of his, she had been dragged into trouble more than once.

The world had crumbled around the small circle of the detective because of her letting in someone she should not have, a liar of most spectacular sort.  Sherlock brought her no end of trouble, but on the occasion, she inadvertently dropped some at his front step.  Two years after she helped the man she loved die so he could rebuild his life, he was back to being the storm of London, back to rocking boats, and she was glad!

Sherlock was the sun and moon in one, the push and pull of everyone around him. It would always be that way, always. For as cold as he could be, he was also their warmth and security. If Sherlock fell, they fell with him, but if he stood, they all could stand. He sheltered them in his own way even while he twisted the knife of death into them. Living with him was a continual paradox and some part of them could never live without that element, the irreducible complexity. Beautiful, Sherlock bloody Holmes!

Molly walked as quickly as she could to match his pace as he turned sharp corner after sharp corner.  His excessively long legs made it interesting for a petite girl to keep up, but keep up she did, and had been all day.  The untouchable and unreachable Holmes was just a few steps in front of her as the two of them worked about on a few leads.

"We need to run tests."  Sherlock's deep, black velvet and chocolate voice rang against the brick walls around them.  

"Right.  Do you think it will tell you anything?" Her own voice sounded so mousy compared to his masculine instrument of perfection.

"One way to find out."  He muttered flatly and said nothing more.

Had anyone told her where she would be the day she met him she hardly expected she would have believed them.  Her life before had been about keeping her sanity but now her life was almost fully about holding his together.  He was strength itself as well as fragility in tangible form, that paradox that he was.  He was too prideful to admit it, but it was true, he needed her and his other little group of friends as badly as they needed him.  They had all become a strange little element in nature that could only really function if they circled around the great detective but he could only function if they stayed circling.

They took a last turn and dashed into St. Bartholomew, where she worked and he occasionally lived.  It was a case, or rather several all tied together in a very bloody bow, and they had been chasing down leads in every court room in the city to find the links.  Sherlock was positive if they could understand the connections of the victims they would be able to track down the killer's location.  Quite honestly though, Molly never wanted to see that particular killer ever again, so why she was following him was beyond her.  He asked, demanded she go, but she had a will all her own and chose not to use it in favor of being his shadow.

His long, exquisite hands set to work putting slides of hair and fibers under examination but she did not bother to offer help.  She was content to watch him fly about her laboratory in his usual driven frenzy, knowing full well he would speak up if he needed her. Today, she was not in a very helpful mood anyway.  Her nights had been sleepless and her cat naps in the cab beside him had not been the most relaxing.  Even when she awakened with her head cradled in his lap, his fingers impatiently drumming her shoulder to announce they had reached their destination, that would have been far nicer had her brain been able to appreciate it.  The best she had done was groan in a very unattractive manner and sit up in time to be dragged from the cab by the hand.

People at her work thought her insane to follow behind a man such as this, and there were days she could agree.  She thought she moved on from her love of him once but she was caught in his orbit just like the planets in space.  No one lived up to him, no one matched him.  She was cursed to always hold up any man that showed her an ounce of interest and compare them to her detective.  There had been a time she struggled against it, and she still did once in a while, but almost having lost him to a bullet had drastically drained her will to let him out of her sight.  At least if she chased him all over London, she knew if he was alive or dead, unlike the last time.

"Test this form me."  Sherlock held out a slide to her and pulled her from her musing, not sure any more how long she had been staring as he hunched over the scope.

Molly reached out and took it from him, sliding herself over to her own usual station.  She was technically on medical leave from work but she saw no reason not to do as he asked, she always did.  No one would say anything about her being here considering she was not on the clock, she was on her own time.  Her young little assistant, or replacement, or whatever she was, had gone home long ago.  It was some time after seven even though she had not bothered to look at a clock to be exactly sure on the time when they walked in.

Being in the lab was as much like being home as any place to her so she really did not mind.  Going home was far more frightening than jogging beside the most brilliant man in England, save the second man she did not care to find if she went home alone.  She expected to open her door and explode some day, or maybe be stabbed to death at her own door.  No, running around with Sherlock and running his tests was better on her health than going to bed in her own room.

* * *

 

Before Molly knew it four hours had passed by and Sherlock, just as he had in the cab, was tapping her shoulder.  Apparently she had fallen asleep in her hair and he never bothered to wake her until he was quite finished with his work.  He walked her down the many stairs, watching her almost like a hawk, seeming to expect her to drop into sleep on the way down.  Some part of her did wonder if she was developing narcolepsy with how much she fell asleep.  Recovering from a massive crash, even if she had not been injured very badly, was harder than it seemed.

"You don't need to look at me that way."  Molly chided, glancing up into his frowning face, "I can stay awake and walk at the same time."

"You have not been terribly well of late, Molly."  He stated it as if he were personally offended by her inability to recover as fast as he wanted.

Molly glared back, allowing her irritation to swell free, "Don't slow down on my account.  I can just stay home where I'm supposed to be."  She was sounding more snappish than she intended but she was glad to have that little edge that always made his chin lift in his own annoyance.

And there was that square chin, jerking up so he could look down his nose at her, hands shoved deep into his pockets the way John always did, "You are well enough to move about.  It's better for recovery to keep active."

"Oh, indeed." Molly nodded, her tiredness pushing up all her normally well hidden temper, "Like you running all over London after being shot was so good for you that you were put back into the hospital again."

Sherlock went positively ridged, shoulders stiff as pipes, "That was different and I knew exactly what I was doing."

"You always do."  Molly muttered, "Just like you knew what you were doing when you stuck a needle-"

"I believe you sufficiently chastised me for that once already."  He bit out, refusing to look at her as he stomped down the hallway, even if he still walked slowly to let her keep up.

"I'm still angry with you!"  Molly ground out, matching his angry steps with her own, going shoulder to shoulder with him.

"I refuse to fight with you at this time of night, Molly."  His voice reached a new level of lofty that set her teeth to grind.

"Then stop being a stupid git and don't give me reason to worry."

Sherlock huffed, almost, almost smirking, "Now you sound like Lestrade."

"Well, you worry him too!  You never think!"  Molly closed her eyes and shook her head.

"Actually, I think too much, which is usually why I find myself in trouble.  Being bored is what leads me to actions of less savory natures for the sheer need for something to keep my mind from imploding."  Now he was bragging and being honest all at once.

"Find different hobbies that won't get you killed."  She grumbled and shoved the back door open, not waiting for him.

He drove her utterly mad and the depth of her fear for him frightened her.  If there was one thing she could not stand it was watching someone slipping away from her and being helpless.  Loving him was too much at times because there was so much risk involved in everything that he was.  It would be so easy to have him go away again, to a place she once again could not follow.  Death was a persistent mistress that clung onto him at every turn and working in a morgue showed her the futility of ever getting that particular woman's claws free of anyone.

Molly turned around and stared up into his face, watching him as the bright light from the open door slowly faded as the door swung shut to leave them in nothing but the street lights.  Her chocolate eye stared into his shocking blue ones and held him there, willing him to understand even a portion of what she wanted to say.  More than snapping at him she just wanted him to understand even for a moment.  

She was bloody well in love with him and she could never tell him half the things she wanted to, could not form the words to explain why he terrified her.  If there was one person that made her more afraid than Moriaty, it was Sherlock, always Sherlock.

The last little while had made it all worse because he had been keeping her closer than he had in the past.  She loved him even more now than she used to and died a little inside if he ever left her side.  If she lost him again in any way, like she had two years before, she would not last through it.  Love was beautiful and it was suffocation, deadly.

And now, here she was, pondering him as he stood before her, reading her mind, most likely.  Since her very criminal ex boyfriend that turned out to be no more dead than Sherlock had made himself known, and once she had been let out of the hospital, topped off by the incident with the yet unresolved stolen evidence, he had kept her with him most times.  It made her smile thinking of it; the Great Detective, her self appointed protector.  She never asked him to, would never dream of it, but he was there all the same.

Each time she suggested he need not bother keeping her as his unhelpful shadow he would say; "I believe who I take about is my choice" or in his more candid moment he would say things like; "It is my turn."  She knew what he meant but there was no debt to be repaid, there never had been.  If he needed her to do it again, she would without hesitation.  Nothing he could ask was too much, it had always been so.  Molly had never been in love with anyone in her life, none but him.  She dated, yes, but she never felt the way she did about this man, not once.  Jim from IT came as close as she had ever come to being in love.  Sherlock though, he was different, her own private addiction, in a way.

She tried to kick the bad habit but-

His eyes were piercing into hers, clawing inside her head with force, "Your pulse is rising, Molly." He said evenly, a statement of fact.

Shocked, she glanced down, never even having noticed his fingers take hold of her wrist to begin with.  It was cool outside Bart's, though not cold, but his hand was warm, she should have noticed.  
  
She jerked her hand from his hold, laughing wryly, "Well, you know, you can stress anyone out at times, Sherlock. It's a talent of yours." She turned on her heels, her ponytail slapping him in the chest as she turned to march away before she lost her edge and control.  
  
Without being sure how she got there, she found herself right back in the same place, facing him again, his hands resting on her shoulders, "Stress? What have I done to cause you stress?" There was a hint of anger or indignation in his eyes and the stiff way he held his shoulders.  
  
"I dunno, you just do it sometimes." Her lips were smiling but her brows twitched in a frown, "It's just what you do, isn't it?" It was difficult to hold her edge, keep herself together and hide how confused he was making her feel.  
  
"Oh?" There was a chill in his eyes as he stepped closer, his body close enough it brushed her slightly, "How do I do that, Molly? Tell me."  
  
Her breath hitched but she refused to let him win, she was not cowed by him and she was not a weak kneed teen, "Like invading peoples privacy, making everyone think you know even more than you really do - you're good but you can't actually read minds. You invade peoples space and make sure they know you don't care if it bothers them. If it suits you, you use their fears and secrets against them. You intimidate people using what you deduce about them, and you know you do it intentionally."  
  
"Do I do that to you?" His eyes were searching her, the edge to his eyes dulling slightly.  
  
Molly balked, "Yes - no, not really... sometimes. Not so much with me, just sometimes, like at the party. I don't always know what you're going to do so that can be confusing but you don't really do the same things as you do with some people. What I mean is more tha-"  
  
"The Christmas party." He muttered, breaking eye contact, "You don't forget easily, do you?"  
  
She was back to stammering, determination shattered by the need to fix this somehow, "No, I wasn't meaning it that way. You asked and it was an example, that's all. I could give you different ones instead!" She flinched, shaking her head, "I mean, not that you've done so many, of course. I don't keep count or anything." Oh, now she sounded like Tom, tripping over herself and making it so much worse with every word. "You're right, I shouldn't make conversation, still really isn't my area."  
  
The wrinkle between his brows deepened as he studied her face, "No, you don't forget a single thing I say to you." His eyes turned reflective, his voice softened and quiet, "You lock it all away inside that brain of yours."  
  
"I said it's fine. I didn't mean it that way, I was just saying; you asked why you intimidate some people." Her own voice grew quite, "It's fine. You just speak what's on your mind is all. That's not bad."  
  
"I stifle you too, don't I?" His fingers brushed feather light against her chin, startling her.  
  
"What? No, I never said that! You don't!" The wild turns this conversation was taking had her desperately spinning to fix it somehow but she had no idea what to say to dig her way back to the surface. "I would never say that about you."  
  
"But it's true." He reached up with both hands, gently cupping the back of her head in his palms.  
  
Her mind was in shock when his lips covered hers but her body responded decently. She matched the slow, methodical motion of his soft lips with her own, her hands finding perches on his coat collar. He was devouring her, not with swift hunger in pace, but with intensity and the slowest of motion, drawing her soul from her in a painful pull of sweetness. It felt as if he were draining her life and giving it back all in one kiss. She was hardly breathing and neither was he, suffocated in the heady thickness of the other. She had never been so invigorated and drained by a kiss in her life, so linked to another person that it felt more like a joining of life than a kiss.  
  
When he pulled back they were both struggling to control their breathing. Molly could not even begin to understand why he would kiss her or why his hands were still cupping her head as he stared with soul searching eyes. She could have crumbled under the intensity of that stare, could have turned to ask under the smoldering strength of those blue-green eyes. It worried her how closely he was watching her because she had no idea what he was looking for. His lips were parted, just breathing her in, saying nothing to ease her mind of the silence.  
  
It lasted long enough she was ready to say something, anything, but he interceded, saving her from a blunder.  
  
"What do you want me to do?" His voice was lower, a bit husky, and brimming with things she could not understand.  
  
Her mind processed his words, trying to understand them as she mulled them over. He was asking her a deeper question than her preference on kisses. He was asking for permission; gratitude; forgiveness perhaps? She nearly heard an audible sound as the truth clicked into place with a jolt through her body. He was asking her for forgiveness, giving her a gift he knew she wanted the same way he had at Christmas. It was his sincerest form of apologizing, giving an intimate gesture and piece of his pride away. It was his way of proving repentance.  
  
The question he asked was simply for her to tell him how to repair the damage he perceived. He asked her how to fix it and bring back what they had before Tom and his death. There had always been something strange between them, a connection, and it had been damaged. Sherlock had lost John, in a way, lost most things he cared for, and he wanted one back. Change was very hard for him. He wanted her friendship back to the way it had been and he was willing to offer her something she wanted in return.  
  
Those little words held a desperate plea within them and it shattered her to understand it. He did not love her, she knew that, but he was willing to offer what he could. He did not have to, and he did not seem to understand that. While she did love him, she would never shatter what they had, it was not worth it. She held the trust of a man that trusted few people in the world, and that was precious. They were friends, they were a rock of safety to one another. He needed her to be his rock again. Love was not what he wanted, he wanted her friendship, her devotion, her support, and he wanted her to be what she once was.  
  
The backs of her eyes began to burn and she smiled, nearly laughing before she could cry, "Nothing."  
  
His expression of searching shifted to puzzlement when she placed her hands over the tops of his.  
  
"Nothing at all, you dear, deceptively gentle soul." She swallowed back the lump in her throat, "You miss understand. I don't stay because I want anything from you or because I want you to be what you're not. I want nothing from you, no price you need to pay. You don't have to kiss me or pretend, you don't even have to try to say the right things. You won't frighten me away, I'll just stay. I'm your pathologist, Sherlock. You can have me, like I told you before, I'm just here."  
  
He stared at her in silence, working her words through his mind. She smiled, squeezed his fingers and then pulled out of his hold. She said nothing more, only retreated slowly back into the refuge of her lab where she could recover and glue together what was left of her heart. Loving him was not really allowed and it would never end in being loved. This was another part of love, another hard piece of it. Love was not easy because it sometimes called for a sacrifice. Her sacrifice was being loved in return. While he did care about her she could understand that it was all she would ever have. She could be happy with that. Sherlock Holmes' pathologist.


	2. Chemicals React

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pompeii by Bastille and Mirror by Justin Timberlake and Chemicals React by Aly and Aj
> 
> I listed the music in order of how it would best be played if you care to listen.  
> This is basically a "what if" Sherlock admitted he was human, the "what could be" aspect of that. Him finally hitting the point where he breaks and goes after something he WANTS rather than denying it.
> 
> No real spoilers to any reading the story this goes along with if you are up to date with the latest chapter.

  ** _Shelter_**

 _Chemicals React_  

 *Sherlock BBC

Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper

* * *

Days moved by and things somehow truly seemed to have reverted back to the way they once were. He spoke to her casually more often, creating a more comfortable atmosphere, but similar to the days before life changed, before he died. The comfortable normalcy of days gone by somehow soothing even to her. In her mind, she could pretend none of the horrors she once faced had ever happened. Moriarty never existed, she never feel to the lure of a criminal pretending to be interested in her for the sake of using her. There had never been a Jim from IT that she spoke little secrets to, never confided in a man that would later betray her. And, of course, there had never been a trial nor Sherlock's plunge from the hospital roof top.

No, none of that ever came to pass.  Since Moriarty never existed he also could not be back.  Pretending was a comfort to her when she did not care to face any more.  There were only so many knives twisting in her heart that she could stand at once.  It might not have been the best way but it did seem less weak than dropping herself into a bottle to forget it all.  People did what they had to.

That aspect of this relationship, the pretending, was lovely.

The pain of having been so close to him and being forced to understand that he would never want more than her friendship or the understanding that she would never be loved by anyone not trying to trick her, that stung a bit more than it should have. Molly was not domestic, she liked her life, but the little part of her that wished for a man to share her life with, or perhaps a child forming in her body, that was a hole she understood that she could not fill.

If Sherlock moved on, left for another two years for whatever reason, he would go without her once again. Being his pathologist was the singular tie she had to him. The tag of friend meant he might say goodbye and might tell her when he was back were as close to assurances as she had. If Moriarty did something again, something as bad as she was afraid he might, he would be gone again.  More than that man killing her, she secretly feared what the criminal might take away this time.  Granted, he did not kill her, but when Sherlock left without promise of surviving, he might as well have ripped her still beating heart from her chest.

Love hurt so desperately, so much that it was an honest pain in her chest at times.  This might have been why she never fell in love before, some part of her mind realized what torture it might be and simply took measures to protect her.  Sherlock broke all those walls she built and fixed himself a place in every section of her heart until she no longer supposed she wanted it to change.

They were friends though, which was better than nothing.

She could be happy with this though; this little thing was her gift to a beautiful man that needed her. As long as she could, in the way that she could, she would take care of him as he took care of others. He deserved that much, she thought. His selfless little acts for those he cared about deserved a return, because he would do the same for them, had already sacrificed the thing he cared about most once. His previous normal was gone and his reputation, the one thing he cared about, had been shatter.  It was being built anew, but nothing broken once was ever the same, and she saw his lament for it. 

He suffered. She could endure with him. It might have been her old self talking, mousy Molly, but she had not moved so far that Sherlock could not touch her. She was strong but her weakness would always be the same. She learned that much in two years of his lack. That, being totally without him, was something she never wanted to feel again. If she could have him at all, it was good enough. That was her resolve and it held firm through everything else.

She was happy. Of course she was! She had Sherlock so she was happy.  She saw the moment he realized he was alone at the wedding, realized things would never be what they once were, that there would not be anyone at his side forever, and it crushed her.  They could be alone together and that would be enough.  She could stay and be happy to.

"Do you have the results?"  His voice hitting her and made her jump, heart racing wildly when she realized how close he had settled himself behind her.

"Yes!"  Her voice was a little too high and she worked quickly to correct it, "Just finished a bit ago.  It's definitely a match to the cigarette you found before and I was able to salvage a few strands of DNA."  She grinned and dipped her chin, "We're back in business." 

"Excellent... good work... as always."  He cleared his throat suddenly, "You always do good work, Molly."

A snicker escaped her and she made a face, "Thank you?"  She turned around, having forgotten how close he was but forced her expression to remain neutral, "You don't usually say things like that unless you want something."

His mouth opened but nothing came out for a good beat or two, "I suppose I'm trying to get into the habit of saying it more.  I have never questioned your abilities at anything.  I always feel safe to leave test results to you."

Molly's smirk fell as she stared at him, a sudden feeling of worry crowding into her mind, "What's wrong?  Did something happen?"

He shook his head, "No, I just think you should know that I know you did nothing to damage evidence."

She had to swallow hard, eyes darting away and to the wall, "Oh, yeah.  Not everyone agrees with you, but it is... nice to hear you say."  Her lips quirked up, "It's not everyone that has Sherlock Holmes sayin' that about, right?  I should really put it on my resume." 

His voice turned stern and scolding, expression superior, "You might try to cast it aside but I am well aware that you feel it keenly.  I know it bothers you and you have right to be angry."

"I'm not angry, I understand why they don't trust me."  Molly shrugged passively, expression persistently neutral. 

"After everything you do and have always done, they should know better."  He remarked, being as offhanded as she was, "But people have a way of forgetting very quickly.  Memories can  be tainted and twisted."

Fine, he was right, it really did bother her.  All these years of hard work, never making mistakes, being so careful in everything she did, always being the good girl, and suddenly everyone doubted her integrity!  Yes, it stung for someone that secretly wanted people to actually like her, a girl that tried so hard never to hurt others because she knew how it felt, a girl that never gave them reason to doubt her.  For god sake, she never even got a speeding ticket!  What did they think she did all her life?  Work for Moriarty since she could drive and perfect her character to be an ideal spy and somehow predict she would need to work at a morgue to get close the Sherlock?  Really?

But fine, let them think she was evil and taking bribes or being manipulated like an idiot, she didn't care!  She cared, but she didn't really care.  There was Sherlock and he believed her!  Without him she would have crawled into a hole and died of heartbreak, at the utter loss of it, but she did have him.  No reason to let him know it stung, she could take it.  No sense getting him upset over it.

"It's true."  She lifted one shoulder just slightly, "And I can count myself in the camp with the greatest detective in the world now that I've been framed by Moriarty as well! Lucky me!"  She chuckled goodnaturedly and grinned for him but his lips did not even twitch.

Realizing suddenly that he might have taken that the wrong way, her smile dropped and she quickly scrambled correct herself, "Sorry, I was not denouncing what he put _you_ through, I was only making a joke about being on your team for real now."

"You did not deserve to be targeted for helping me.  I promise that I will do everything I can to clear you."  He was being so much more serious than he usually was, grave even, like he just had to make her understand something important.

"Well, it's not like I'm the only one.  Sally didn't even help you, but she still got it.  He would do it to anyone that was involved for _or_ against you, obviously." Her heart skipped several beats as she realized how horrid that sounded, "so I'm just very glad I was on your side.  Anyone that knew him was bound to die, so I'm glad I was with you."  That sounded slightly better, less like it was all his fault.

"I _too_ am glad you chose me, glad that you believed in me when many others turned to the side.  You have always been 'in my camp' and for that, I have always been grateful."  His words sounded so awkward in his mouth, as if he struggled just to get them out, he looked like he was ready to crawl inside his own coat like a turtle.

"I understand, Sherlock.  You don't have to tell me anything, _really_.  It's fine.  You trust me and I trust you."  She was trying her best to make him feel better and let him off of whatever hook he had placed himself on for the supposed sake of her feelings.

"No, you don't completely understand."  The poor man looked nearly ready to hyperventilate,  "I-I..." He snapped his mouth shut, eyes shifting to fix on the wall.  
  
Molly openly stared, nearly gaping at him. Sherlock Holmes never stuttered, never faltered. If he spoke, each word was a cutting lash against the subject of his wrath, each deduction hitting exactly where he knew it would. He was self assurance in physical form. He did not stutter, she did. Molly Hooper stuttered when he looked into those eyes, always, like a bird looking into the hypnotizing eyes of a snake.  What on earth was he trying to tell her that he was struggling this horribly with?  
  
How long his silent reflection of the wall texture lasted, she did not know, too caught up in her study of him. He had not even stuttered the night he came to her in the lab, asking for her help.  
  
He began again, eyes moving to sit at her shoulder but not her face, "I have begun to realize things about myself, about the people I call friends. The sentiments that I have fallen into without realizing it sicken me at times, repulse me and enrages me because I have  _always_  understood that attachments would weaken me. Caring is a weakness, leaves a person vulnerable, flayed open for anyone to poke about their vital organs."  
  
She continued to stare at him, listening carefully even though she had no idea where he was leading this morbid line of thought.

He had paused, looking at the table and running his fingers over it, "When I was at my end, when I had no where to turn, I found myself here, coming to you."  His adam's apple swayed as he swallowed, finally bringing his eyes up to hers, "I was vulnerable and desperate... and you were the one person I knew I could come to.  You have always been there when I needed you, for anything, without stipulations and conditions.  I don't have to make promises to you in order to get your help and I'm honestly not used to that."

Molly shook her head, smiling nervously because there was nothing else she could really do, "Sherlock, you don't have to worry!  I will always be here for you.  I'm not going anywhere, you don't need to say any of this, it's fine."  She took to fingering the file nearest her, "You don't have to tell me, I know it's hard for you.  I'm not going to walk away or anything, really."

"I _do_ need to."  He stated quickly, taking a step forward, "I have to because I may not be good at caring, but I care about you!  It kills me and it's not easy to admit because I know it is a weakness, but it's already done."

He sounded so dejected over it, so irritated, like having her around angered him.  It was a bit sad how he viewed things.  He cared and it frightened him that he cared.  The poor man shut off his feelings and they were starting to make a comeback, which he did not know how to deal with.

She blinked several times, "Umm..." That was pitiful, try again! "I care about you too, very much."  No, that was worse.  "That is, you already know that. It's not a weakness though.  It's more like a safety net, having people you can trust."

"Friends protect people."  Sherlock muttered, like it was a grudging revelation, "You protected me."

"Well, yes, that's how it works."  Molly nodded, smiled and laughed a little, shrugging her shoulders, "That's what friends are for, to support."

He moved closer still, boxing her in with the tables behind her, "Tell me this, Molly..."  another step and she was leaning back against the tables, staring up into his open eyes in search of his reasoning as he searched for something in hers, "Why do you still help me?  Why did you risk so much for me?"

"Because I-" because she _loved_ him, that was why, and she nearly said it.  "because being friends with someone means it's not conditional on how they behave, you do it because you care about them."  Her fingers folded together in front of her protectively, a nervous stance of hers, "Caring about people is not easy, it's really hard, but you do it because you care, not because it's easy."

"Why do you care about me?"  He blurted out so suddenly she nearly jumped.

Heat was creeping up into her ears and she very much hoped it stayed there! How could she answer a question like that?  How could she explain why she loved him without spilling everything?

"Because you are a good, kind person no matter how desperately hard you try not to be.  You have a big, vulnerable heart and it makes you afraid of being hurt so you shut off your feelings to try protecting yourself.  You're strong and utterly brilliant and you carry everyone on your shoulders to try to protect them.  You're socially inept but if people can get around your sharp comments they see a quality about you that makes them want to be around you."  She was babbling, just perfect,

"When you solve crimes, especially the really bad ones, you give the victims a voice their killers robbed them of. You stand up for what you believe no matter what anyone else thinks because you know you should."  

She had to smirk a bit as all his first meetings with people flashed in her mind, "You don't pretend with anyone the way everyone else does.  You are who you are and you don't fake anything just to make people like you, and you call out all the fake people for what they are.  You don't like lies and you don't like people pretending to be things they aren't.  You make honest men out of the biggest liars with only a few comments."

"Why does that make you care?"  Sherlock was leaning in, so serious and quiet that it worried her.

"Because it's you."  She shrugged again and tipped her head, "I dunno.  Explaining things like that is hard.  I just do."

"Do you love me?"  His voice was quietly orotund as he gazed into her eyes so deeply he might have been about to crawl inside them in another minute.

Molly's face flushed instantly with boiling heat, her heart beat instantly spiking, tongue turned to lead, "I-I-I... what?"

His hands rested on the table, arms penning her in on either side as he leaned there to hover just before her.  "I want to know.  It lingers just in the air around you, it's the elephant in the room we never look at but know is there.  We can't simply walk around it, we have to confront it before we can move past it."

He knew exactly how she felt, he had to know!  Everyone knew!  They all knew she was over the moon for a man that would never love her back and they pitied her as well as calling her stupid behind her back.  He called it the elephant in the room, which meant he hated it, hated her obvious shows of affection; the way she knew she looked at him, her uncontrollable smiles whenever he said something sweet, all the reactions she tried desperately to hide but that dangled free in the open, he noticed them.  He did not want them but he noticed them, indulged them because he never saw fit to crush her totally under his heel because she was his friend.

Since the night he kissed her she thought she was doing so well at hiding it all away.  She must not have been.  It must have been more obvious than ever.

Tears she wanted absolutely no part of began to rim her eyes and she looked to the side, laughing mirthlessly, "Why on earth would you ask me that?"

"I want to know."  He said simply, not offering her any relief.

"Why?  What possible use is something like that?  Why you do want me to say it?"  A hated tear escaped the corner of one eye and she instantly turned her cheek farther from his view to keep him from seeing, "You already know the answer."

His fingers gripped her jaw and turned her head back, and she promptly jerked away, but he persistently held her chin and turned her face to him, meeting her eyes, "Tell me, I need to-"

"Alright!  I love you, Sherlock, I bloody well love you!  I loved you from the start like I never expected I could!  I fell utterly in love with you and it has never changed, not once, even when I tried so hard to make it.  I know you don't want it, and I won't do anything to make things more complicated.  I won't ask you for anything-"

Sherlock positively descended on her without the slightest second of warning, full lips pressing over the top of hers like he intended to prevent her breathing again.  Heat shot all over her body, increasing in her cheeks and heating her core. She could feel her hormones spike and she knew it was a very bad idea.  She whined into his mouth and he responded by wrapping both arms around her to hold her where she was.

"Sherlock," she gasped against his lips, pulling back enough to get it out, "stop, you don't have to!"

He ignored her, dragging her in for another burning kiss, the pad of his thumb tracing the trail of her one tear before.

Molly jerked back violently, throwing herself from his hold, connecting painfully with the table, making her grit her teeth as her lower back screamed at her.  That, that right there told her what she needed to know.  He kissed her this time out of guilt and out of sympathy! He felt responsible for the way her life had fallen apart and he was trying to make her feel better. The entire conversation could have told her exactly why he was doing this. If she let him do that she would hate herself and he would eventually hate her too. 

He asked her how she felt and then he gave her what he thought she needed to feel better.  In his own way, he was trying to fix everything that had happened to her by giving her that.  Sherlock ran from things he did not want to see, or rather, looked for distractions.  He was trying to be her distraction to make it better, to give her something to hold onto.  It was kind but she would not be going down that road, no.

Sherlock blinked, looking so very puzzled as he watched her inch away.  She was not inching out of fear, only because small movement was all her back could take at a time, but the pain was fading.  When he moved to follow her she snarled and waved her hand at him wildly.

"No, no!"  She was shouting and she did not really care, "Just stop it!  I don't need your pity!  I don't want it! I'm happy being your friend, I don't need you to force yourself to do anything to pay me back! I didn't help you so you would pay me back!"

Wonderful, there were more tears welling in her eyes now and she could not even stand the thought of him seeing a single one fall! Molly did what she did best when she could not handle a situation, she ran.  Since she was small, she had always been the one to run away.  If she could not run at the time, she stayed calm and stoic until the time she could bolt from the situation.  She pretended, she ran, she went to her safe places until she felt like she could handle coming out again.

Sherlock was coming after her, she could hear his shoes hitting the tiled floor, but she ignored it.  He only felt bad for her, only kissed her out of his self imposed guilt!  Molly did not want forced love, not pity love! If she was going to be loved, she wanted to have it because they _both_ felt it!

His cursed long legs caught up to her just before she could slip into the safety of her office.  She was close, just a few more long steps and she would be inside with a perfectly functioning lock!  She could stay there and cry safely until she felt human again.  Long fingers on her hip and shoulder spun her back to face him and she instantly ducked her head, locking her chin to her sternum.  His hands cupping her face tried to bring it back up to look at him but she refused, absolutely refused to let him see the tears leaking from her eyes, so she did the only thing she could do. Molly threw herself against his chest, fingers clamped into his coat to hold her there so he could not force her away.

Rather than toss her off, his strong arms circled her and he pulled her closer, "For such a brilliant observer, you are horrible at reading some things."

"What do you mean?"  She mumbled into his scarf.

"I did not kiss you out of pity.  Maybe the first time I did it because I needed to for multiple reasons, but this time was much simpler."  He declared evenly, "And I would not disapprove if you would stop drenching my shirt for imagined meanings you think I had in it."

Molly jerked back quickly but he did not let her go, holding her in place and speaking softly, right into her ear, "But I would like it best if you stopped struggling when I'm trying to 'get off' with you..." it seemed like he was testing that phrase in his mouth awkwardly before continuing, "something I believe would be mutually interesting for us both.  After that, I could take you to dinner... I believe that is the way people do it."

Eyes suddenly wide, she stared into his smirking face, "Sherlock Holmes!" Molly's often hidden, dry wit kicked in past her shock, "You have it backwards.  It's supposed to be dinner first, but I guess you get half credit for remembering the steps at all."

"I don't mind going out of order and I find my interest in propriety often severely lacking."  His pupils were undeniably widening the longer he stared at her, expression unusually open, "My interest in dinner is also greatly reduced by the way you are pressed against me.  I am sure that it is not considered proper to still be aroused by your previous confession when you are currently crying but I... am. Sentiment is not desired and I rarely allow it to register in my mind but I am unsure if I have ever been so aroused as I was when you said... the thing in the lab and-"

"You're being awfully honest."  Molly interrupted, knowing she should move away after that confession of _his_ , but finding herself nearly leaning closer.

He noticed,  his body tensing, "I am attempting."

She should not let him lull her into believing him because she knew she was right.  He was trying to distract her, trying to fix things the only way he had open to him. Somehow he had tricked himself, his body and mind, into this; he had done it with the woman from the Watson's wedding so why could he not so it with her?  This was another act to make her happy, to pay her back for saving him because he still suffered under the impression that he owed her.  He had already taken her on cases, already worked in the lab with her, and it had not been enough to fully take the mind from what happened.  People still glared at her, only letting her pass because of the steel eyes of the Consulting Detective warning them off with his usual intimidation. The dear creature did everything he could, but she still could not escape.  Trouble was that she wanted to believe him.

Molly swiped at her now tear free eyes to erase the evidence and she smiled, "You want to 'get off' with me?  You mean kissing and snogging?" She felt so emboldened she could hardly contain herself, sure her own eyes were beginning to react the way his were and she leaned against him, not missing a decided bulge she could feel at her lower abdomen.

"Y-yes, that, and probably more, if I am being fully honest the way I am endeavoring to be." 

The tables had somehow shifted and she was the brave one, because, just now, she made him  _stutter_! "You know, I was headed to my office to do some paperwork." Wrong of her or not, strange or not, unfair or not, she leaned in closer, tugging at his scarf, "Would you like to help?"

Molly was not sad anymore, no, she was smiling.  She also did not feel like a mouse, no, she felt like a seductress and Greek goddess because _she_ had done this! Perhaps his ex-fiance, or whatever she had been, opened up this door a crack so that she could slip inside instead, but she would not think hard over that. While she knew he might be acting, making himself be this way somehow, she was inclined to believe him, and also not to care. She had been in misery since their kiss, thinking he would never again touch her or look at her with burning, soulful eyes.  Here he was, looking at her even more passionately than before.  Why would he lie to her now? What purpose, what scheme could there be?

He could be lying for her feelings. She wanted it to be true, wanted this to be how he felt, wanted him to love her even if he had not said those words. Something had happened, a very strange thing, and unless she grabbed hold now, it might never be back.  The great detective was letting her close, letting her in, letting her be with him.  He was trusting her with a side of himself he did not normally allow to exist, as he already said.  He was letting her have a repressed side of him, giving her the keys to hurt him and trusting her not to ruin him.

"Yes."  Was all he said before he caught her up in his grasp, lips coupling with hers.

Smart or stupid, wrong or right, they jumped from the precipice they had been standing on together for such a long time. Every suppressed emotion on both sides was set free in a heady flash as they collided. 

Those huge hands cupped her cheek and jaw as his lips spoke volumes against hers.  He wrote her sonnets and pages of poetry in every sway of his body with hers and tilt of his head to deepen the kisses, every curl of his tongue and motion of his lips a declaration.  This time was different from the last kiss they shared, no less intense, just different.  He still kissed her as if they were under water finding air only in their joined, starving lips, but it felt different. 

They were awkward, bumping each other, no idea where their arms and legs should be going, just knowing they wanted it!  The two of them were spinning, rolling off walls and running into things, but somehow separating to walk normally where they wanted to go just did not seem a grand idea.  They tangled too easily and had to work harder just to get into comfortable postures.  Neither of them had enough experience to know exactly what they were doing, or maybe just not with each other because emotion and lust were driving much to high but it felt glorious anyway!  In frustration, Sherlock cupped both hands under her bottom and lifted her right off the floor.  Her arms shot around the back of his neck, legs clamping around his waist, ankles locked to give her a better hold.  Sherlock groaned in approval, hips rolling forward on instinct, which made her sigh in her own approval. 

He raced the two of them into her office, kicking the door closed behind them as he made a clear dash for the desk.  The room was dark and he stumbled a little, careful not to drop her as he went.  Once he hit the desk, everything; papers, organizers, pens, folders, everything flew off as his arm swept across.  It would be a mess to clean up later but she did not even care as he laid her back, following her down.  His mouth moved to her neck, sucking and nipping lightly to mix with the kisses.  Her back arched into him, moaning a little too loudly already as intense pleasure flooded her.

"Oh, Sherlock!"  She gasped when his hands slipped under her bra, not even realizing before this second that he opened the buttons of her shirt.

Her hands gripped at his coat, desperately working it from his shoulders and he helped her by shrugging it off, tossing it to the floor with the papers.  Her desperate, fumbling fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt while he nibbled on her ear, arching his body to let her.  Once to buttons were free her hands moved to his chest, making his breath noticeably catch, trailing down the muscle ridges of his abdomen before shifting up to slide her nails lightly up his back.  That got her a long moan, his eyes squeezing shut as he lifted his head, likely intent on kissing her, but she jerked him in first.

The two of them were chemicals, opposites coming together, and reacting fire hot.  Their skin was heated, bodies desperate, eyes blown nearly black with the spike of hormones and blood pressure.

Their tongues tangled together in an ecstatic dance, mouths slotted tightly together.  She found herself being very, very glad that she actually did have a huge desk. There had been time she hated it but now she was very pleased the man in the room before her insisted on a monster in the room.  Deftly, hand slipped round her back to hold her up, he moved her in order to unfasten the clasp of her bra. Her lab coat and shirt were next to be removed but he carefully left them under her, keeping them between her and a cold desk.  The bra, however, was tossed off to hang from some unknown piece of furniture and likely give Molly a bit of a time finding it when she tried to dress again later.  He broke away from her only a moment to peel the tight shirt from his arms, returning as if he regretted having been gone at all.

Their eyes locked, breaths each coming in deep drags, her breasts swaying against his chest.  While he might not have spoken, his eyes screamed three very tender words to her before he kissed her again, slowly and carefully. Molly responded in kind, kissing him and running the pads of her fingers over his naked shoulders and up his neck, stroking the hair of his scalp. 

He broke the kiss, moving down her jaw and tracing lines over her collarbone, dabbing at the skin with his tongue and then down to her chest.  One hand cupped her, stroking and kneading the soft and pliant tissue while his mouth worked at the bud of her other.  Molly moaned and whined, fingers lacing in his hair and her legs tightening around his torso.  His reply was to moan back, swirling his tongue in wonderful coils.  While she should be worried over his location considering what he said at a particular party, when she looked at the way his mouth lavished them in tandem with his hand, eyes closed in pleasure, she just was not afraid of him disliking them. In his hands she no longer felt lesser or valueless, she felt like a queen and she had no idea why. His touch and his instant tenderness along with his effort to tell her how he felt before made her feel treasured. 

Molly made some very unnatural sounds when he moved lower, kissing down her stomach, making her gaps as he dipped his tongue into her bellybutton, hands at work with the buttons and fastening on her dress pants.  He made quick work of them and she lifted her hips to let him slide them free.  The thought of his tongue going where it seemed to be headed did frighten her a little, not sure she was quite ready for it yet, so she tugged him back up to her.  He did not resist in the slightest, letting her move him.

She gasped a whine when his fingers brushed her core instead, stroking her damp folds.  That she could handle, more than handle, appreciate even as those long fingers took a dip and his thumb rubbed her clitoris.  Her cry of pleasure was enough to spur him on, his fingers curling inside her to make her even louder.  He was enjoying the little game, watching her very intently with a devilish smirk on his face.  This was turning into a little experiment for him.

That was not going to last if she had a say, which she did! Molly reached up, fighting her own body's protests for her to let him do all those pretty things to her, and gently cupped his manhood through his pants.  That freed a low, sweet groan from his throat. Those were still on and they really needed to fix that!  At least they needed to be off those pretty hips of his, not necessarily off because she did not suppose the desk would be too comfortable without anything, but she digressed. Task at hand. His fingers stopped moving, mind clearly hitching and tripping over itself as she rocked her palm gently over his rock hard erection.  She used her other hand to unfasten his belt and buttoned up pants.The second it was open, she abandoned palming him and slipped her hand inside to touch him directly.

His entire body twitched, his member in particular, when she ran her fingers down the underside of his penis where that little vein was, " _Molly!_ "  It was very nearly a sob, though clearly not out of pain.

She was a doctor and she knew where the "sweet" spots were even if she had not been the type to have a long string of lovers. The poor man was very ready, already shivering as she carefully massaged him, palming his head before circling him with two fingers, sliding them lightly down his length the first time, increasing the tightness the next to slide the skin over those nerves to prevent the need for lubrication.

Not that they were in any shortage of that once they went a bit farther considering she knew she was more than wet enough for him. His fingers were still inside her even if their owner was not aware enough to continue using their vantage point. Molly did not actually mind, she was turned on by how wide his eyes were and how hard it was for him to breathe. It took him a minute of gasping to gain a little control back over his brain, at which time, those fingers began moving again ecstatically.  They pressed up against each other, his head tucked into her neck so she could hear every little pleasure noise he made, but he had the mind to keep his free hand supported on the desk to keep from crushing her with his weight. It was a struggle for both of them to keep up their ministration while the other did such a splendid job of distracting them, but it did not go long. 

"Stop." Sherlock gasped, pulling her hand from his trousers.

He freed his own hips from the fabric and she fingered his hipbones with a purr of approval.  He dropped himself fully over her, looking deep into her eyes as he shifted himself into position.  She accommodated, curling her legs around those lovely hips, stroking her heel over the curve of his tight, bare rump, eliciting a growl of spiked arousal and a grin from his lips.  With that, his hips jerked forward, sending his over eager member it to her warm and welcoming entrance.  

They coiled around each other, her arms and legs holding him in a vice and his every muscle was wound tightly enough to snap; neither of them moved, he simply stayed completely sheathed, pelvis against pelvis. For her, the tension was for the slight bit of pain the intrusion caused because she had never been with a man that had actually filled her before; they fit, fit like a glove, no extra room, but exactly enough; and also from pure disbelief that this was really happening because feeling this made it all real where it had been surreal before.  His stillness came from both fear and shock; his body might have been ready for a union but his mind was not caught up. She could only imagine the things running through his mind with just how tightly he was holding her, elbow propped on either side of her so he cloud cradle the back of her neck to ensure her head was pressed to the side of his, other arm looped in the curve of her back to keep their bodies pressed tight.

"Molly... Molly... Molly... _Molly!_ "

She was shocked by his words, his voice, because there was something strange about it.  The pause between each utterance of her name seemed to hold unspoken words, his voice cutting off on each try before he began another equally unsuccessful attempt, never actually getting the full sentence free.  But she had never heard that voice before, never heard that rawness.  It reminded her of the night of his fall, the vulnerability in his voice and the desperation in the single word; "you."  She knew what those words were, she just did, and it kept her from taking a breath until he began to sway over her.

The way his hips rocked in a spectacular rhythm got her to gaps, clutching a hand into his hair.  Considering how long they had been still, or maybe it was not that long, she was surprised her arousal had not diminished at all.  It lit up when he rolled his pelvis against hers, stealing her breath again and making her yip and whine with the pleasure of it.  His low moans joined her higher ones as he thrust perfectly into her.  They were both panting and gasping at the hot air when he lifted his head to lock their lips.  Kissing during sex was a bit more challenging that it had right to be, but, oh, did it feel good!  They were open mouth kisses, the two of them gasping between and during each motion of their lips and swaying bodies.

It was so much more intense, more pleasurable than anything she could remember feeling.  He was bringing her higher than she had ever been.  That might have been because he was just that spectacular of a lover, but it was not only his technique, though she was enjoying that just fine.  Other men had better, but she was higher than she guessed drugs could ever take her because this was Sherlock Holmes, the man she loved, the only man she had ever loved!

His teeth nipped at her lip as he thrust a little harder.  Molly cried out her pleasure, not even realizing how loud she was or how much he was reveling in making her louder.  The tug she gave his hair when she thrust her own hips up to meet his made him match her in volume.  After that neither of them seemed capable of being quiet, moaning, whining, yelping, gasping for air.  Each sound ripped from them simply drove them higher and higher, their motion together turned clumsy and urgent. 

" _Oh, god, Sherlock!_ " she gave a staggering set of mewls before she allowed her mouth the freedom it begged for, "Sherlock, I love you, I love you, love you, _love you!_ "

"Molly, _ah_ , **_Molly!_** "  He yipped into her shoulder.

If she had not been loud before, she must have been screaming now as the most incredible orgasm washed over her every nerve, flooding her brain with chemicals she would have been able to name at some other time.  Sherlock was close enough to her ear that she heard him cry out as well with a final deep thrust.  They were still jerking and arching against the other even if his hips had ceased to sway in favor of staying as deeply seated as possible, but they could not hold still, riding out their shared orgasm like an eloped couple.

They were still panting the same hot air, now laced with the sensual musk of their activity.  Coming down slowly, they finally stilled, eyes closed and both of them ready to fall asleep where they were.  She could feel this member going limp as he stayed where he was, not at all interested in pulling free.  He was leaning on her quite a bit, crushing her into the desk a little, but she could not bring herself to mind.

Their bodies slowly began to cool, breaths evening out the longer they stayed still.  Sherlock finally slid from her and got the his feet, pulling her off to the edge of the desk. Her skin skidding against polished wood hurt a bit but she did not let it show.  He had to lean down considerably, holding his pants up with one hand while he cupped the back of her head for a kiss with the other.

Their lips smacked as he pulled back, "Now that we've had dessert, shall we have dinner?"

Molly could not make the girlish giggle sound any more womanly if she tried several times, "I could go for a bite.  We worked up enough of an appetite, I think."

"And after we are no longer hungry, we should have dinner again."  Sherlock was actually smirking in a way that could only be described as playful.  "Later, I suggest breakfast in bed.  I can make tea."

Molly returned the smirk, "Sounds lovely!  We might even be able to start something creative for lunch.  I have always wanted to try chocolate covered strawberries with a squirt of whipped cream... making it ourselves sounds like fun too."

Molly did not miss the way his eyes turned decidedly predatory and the way his pupils expanded again.  Unless she missed her guess, he liked that idea.  Both of them had bad habits of skipping meals because of work but she had a feeling they would be eating much better after this.  She was not even going to bother to think about anything else, no secrets, no dirty looks from people, she would only think of Sherlock.  She would hang onto this and they would be dining in quite a lot.  Carry away was a marvelous thing!

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Sherlock would use lines he learned from John and even "The Woman" when speaking about bedroom sorts of things because that is where he learned about it, about flirting. I think Sher and Molls have been in tension for a very long time, him fighting himself over his feelings for her and eventually he might just snap and admit he's been in love with her, aching for her, for ages. He is so possessive of her. Look at his face when she walked in with "Jim from IT"! Sherlock was livid the second he put his hand on her back, and not just because he thought he was gay. He was venomous and furious about the whole thing because that was damn well HIS Molly. It's one of those "maybe I didn't say i want it, but no one better try to take it, 'cause it's mine!" things.  
> I don't think he could bring himself to say it though, act it out, yes, but never say it.
> 
> Oh, and forgive any errors, I try to catch them but my mind reads it the way I know it should be so I miss lots of things.


End file.
